Poetry
This is the general category of fuckery that goes on and on and doesn’t seem interested in stopping.
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考えてしちゃう
It’s not like I don’t feel affection for him anymore
Still get the little notification,
Is Josh 元気
Seriously it doesn’t translate and it’s the best word to use, ignore my Japanglish
I just have to go see
I just have to hide in his music today
That safe place I found here
It’s such an interesting relationship
I can study it all day but at the end of the day I can’t disengage
I want it
Or something
I’m thinking of you
You big walking red flag you
I can’t say we’re unrelated
Who knows why I feel this little tug
Or why you pop in at the most poignant moments
It’s a mystery
It’s been a mystery
I’ll probably never stop writing about it
I do love you, you know
Somewhere under all these scars
No comments on -
It’s all a big circus
An attempt to grasp your attention away from the actual problems
Musk and his X games bot welcoming cesspool
I wonder what we missed in the meantime
I wish I could unravel the mess that is this world
Hoarding money shouldn’t be a qualification
It should be a disqualification
Excuse me I haven’t had my nicotine I don’t know how coherent I am
Just that we think hoarding things is a disqualification
But money, is a thing, no?
It may be a fictitious thing, but a thing it is
Oppa Gangnam style
What a time for this song
Some time later…
Speaking of colossal distractions
I just wonder how much I’ve missed being distracted
Humans? Or Magpies?
I’m definitely part bird with my collections of things
I sure hope I can pay attention long enough to understand this chaos
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People ask why I don’t ask the bus driver to kneel the bus
It’s the same reason I don’t ask for a seat even no one moves in the disability seating
The same reason I don’t correct people who misgender me
I don’t feel worthy
If the bus driver didn’t kneel the bus they must think I don’t need it and since I’m worthless I don’t deserve to ask
If they didn’t move I don’t deserve the seat
If they got my pronouns wrong I’ve done something wrong to deserve it
I have no self worth
No one ever taught me I was worth anything
So why would I think it?
When I was a child all I was good for was passing school
And now I’m an adult and all I’m worth
Is nothing
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People treat things like they only go one of two ways, or they’re a spectrum like colour,
But to me things like sexuality and gender are like space,
There are so many directions to go in,
You don’t even really know what direction you’re going in
And everyone is seeing something completely different.
Our life circumstances place us in different places in space,
We see what can be seen,
We experience it differently than everyone else
Transphobes try to do that thing
“Define a woman”
And the truth of the matter is you cannot
Every woman is different, though similarities in experience arise
But I do know every cis woman probably doesn’t feel unfit in their bodies(yes feelings about weight and beauty are different)
The trans/sexuality experience is like being left handed
When I try to use my right I feel like I’m using this alien instrument
I can force myself to use my right hand, but nothing comes out right, it feels like I’m not really the one writing, or pouring, or doing
I wonder how often right handed people think about left handed people?
I’m reminded daily that my handedness is not what’s expected.
Then again there’s pretty much nothing about me that’s expected
ま～とにかく
Explore your corner of space and be yourself
There are people out here who can’t imagine anything but what they’ve seen
And then there are those of us that have seen such magnificence in space that we know, unequivocally, that we cannot have seen it all.
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What change, big or small, would you like your blog to make in the world?
We live in an interesting time, where even the poor have a pen
And the ink comes free as text
Giving the opportunity for those who never told their stories to do so
I mean, look at me,
Non-binary, disabled, poor
Three reasons I should not have a pen
Unique in its existence, this time
I was told to write my story before I died
Call it premonition, call it the cries of a sick brain
I didn’t die (Yay me?)
I’m still a little crazy all the time
But I don’t try to hide it here
If someone could find this place,
See the pain of chronic illness, living with disability, and living in poverty
Learn that poverty and disability are not a character reference
Maybe they can’t see past the gender fuckery and anti-capitalism
But I imagine my work being posthumously discovered
Being a trove of thousands that anyone can find something to relate to
A tale of human life, pain, joy, woes, loves
It’s kind of like a love song
A love song of life
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We were fire
Grappling with the terror of eternity
And the sadness of impermanance.
Do I want truly to exist forever?
Do I want to find out what forever is?
But I don’t want to come to an ending either
Was I beautiful?
As a young thing, never fearing the end?
Flying through life by the skin of my teeth
How it would have been to last forever a youth
I cling to the yesterday afraid it will fade away to nothing
Am I beautiful now?
Broken, bruised, battered
Hopeless
Was my hope beautiful?
Did I live my younger years to the best?
Once an adult the terror of life ending pinned itself to me
Every prick a reminder that it’s coming
Death I have such mixed feelings for you
I don’t know if you have any control over the when and the how
Maybe you’re just a catcher of souls
But I wish you could tell me
Tell me my expiration date
Without telling me it’s before I’m 50
So afraid
Death come cover me
May I go gently into the flame
Elucidating Questions 